The Dove in the Eagle's Nest

by Charlotte M. Yonge

  CHAPTER VIITHE SCHNEIDERLEIN’S RETURN

  THE poor little unowned bride had more to undergo than her imaginationhad conceived at the first moment.

  When she heard that the marriage was to be a secret, she had notunderstood that Eberhard was by no means disposed to observe much morecaution than mere silence. A rough, though kindly man, he did notthoroughly comprehend the shame and confusion that he was bringing uponher by departing from his former demeanour. He knew that, so enormouswas the distance then supposed to exist between the noble and theburgher, there was no chance of any one dreaming of the true state of thecase, and that as long as Christina was not taken for his wife, there wasno personal danger for her from his mother, who—so lax were the morals ofthe German nobility with regard to all of inferior rank—would tolerateher with complacency as his favourite toy; and he was taken by surpriseat the agony of grief and shame with which she slowly comprehended hisassurance that she had nothing to fear.

  There was no help for it. The oubliette would probably be the portion ofthe low-born girl who had interfered with the sixteen quarterings of theAdlerstein shield, and poor Christina never stepped across its trap-doorwithout a shudder lest it should open beneath her. And her father wouldprobably have been hung from the highest tower, in spite of his shrewdcare to be aware of nothing. Christina consoled herself with the hopethat he knew all the time why he had been sent out of the way, for, witha broad grin that had made her blush painfully, he had said he knew shewould be well taken care of, and that he hoped she was not breaking herheart for want of an escort. She tried to extort Eberhard’s permissionto let him at least know how it was; but Eberhard laughed, saying hebelieved the old fox knew just as much as he chose; and, in effect,Sorel, though now and then gratifying his daughter’s scruples, by servingas a shield to her meetings with the young Baron, never allowed himselfto hear a hint of the true state of affairs.

  Eberhard’s love and reverence were undiminished, and the time spent withhim would have been perfectly happy could she ever have divested herselfof anxiety and alarm; but the periods of his absence from the castle werevery terrible to her, for the other women of the household, quick toperceive that she no longer repelled him, had lost that awe that hadhitherto kept them at a distance from her, and treated her with afamiliarity, sometimes coarse, sometimes spiteful, always hateful anddegrading. Even old Ursel had become half-pitying, half-patronizing; andthe old Baroness, though not molesting her, took not the slightest noticeof her.

  This state of things lasted much longer than there had been reason toexpect at the time of the marriage. The two Freiherren then intended toset out in a very short time to make their long talked-of submission tothe Emperor at Ratisbon; but, partly from their German tardiness ofmovement, partly from the obstinate delays interposed by the proud oldFreiherrinn, who was as averse as ever to the measure, partly fromreports that the Court was not yet arrived at Ratisbon, the expeditionwas again and again deferred, and did not actually take place tillSeptember was far advanced.

  Poor Christina would have given worlds to go with them, and evenentreated to be sent to Ulm with an avowal of her marriage to her uncleand aunt, but of this Eberhard would not hear. He said the Ulmers wouldthus gain an hostage, and hamper his movements; and, if her wedding wasnot to be confessed—poor child!—she could better bear to remain where shewas than to face Hausfrau Johanna. Eberhard was fully determined toenrol himself in some troop, either Imperial, or, if not, among the FreeCompanies, among whom men of rank were often found, and he would thenfetch or send for his wife and avow her openly, so soon as she should beout of his mother’s reach. He longed to leave her father at home, to besome protection to her, but Hugh Sorel was so much the most intelligentand skilful of the retainers as to be absolutely indispensable to theparty—he was their only scribe; and moreover his new suit of buffrendered him a creditable member of a troop that had been very hard toequip. It numbered about ten men-at-arms, only three being left at hometo garrison the castle—namely, Hatto, who was too old to take; Hans, whohad been hopelessly lame and deformed since the old Baron had knocked himoff a cliff in a passion; and Squinting Mätz, a runaway servant, who hadmurdered his master, the mayor of Strasburg, and might be caught and putto death if any one recognized him. If needful the villagers couldalways be called in to defend the castle: but of this there was little orno danger—the Eagle’s Steps were defence enough in themselves, and theparty were not likely to be absent more than a week or ten days—agrievous length of time, poor Christina thought, as she stood strainingher eyes on the top of the watch-tower, to watch them as far as possiblealong the plain. Her heart was very sad, and the omen of the burningwheel so continually haunted her that even in her sleep that night shesaw its brief course repeated, beheld its rapid fall and extinction, andthen tracked the course of the sparks that darted from it, one rising andgleaming high in air till it shone like a star, another pursuing a fitfuland irregular, but still bright course amid the dry grass on thehillside, just as she had indeed watched some of the sparks on thatnight, minding her of the words of the Allhallow-tide legend: “_Fulgebuntjusti et tanquam scintillæ in arundinete discurrent_”—a sentence whichremained with her when awake, and led her to seek it out in her LatinBible in the morning.

  Reluctantly had she gone down to the noontide meal, feeling, though herhusband and father were far less of guardians than they should have been,yet that there was absolute rest, peace, and protection in their presencecompared with what it was to be alone with Freiherrinn Kunigunde and herrude women without them. A few sneers on her daintiness and uselessnesshad led her to make an offer of assisting in the grand chopping ofsausage meat and preparation of winter stores, and she had been answeredwith contempt that my young lord would not have her soil her delicatehands, when one of the maids who had been sent to fetch beer from thecellar came back with startled looks, and the exclamation, “There is theSchneiderlein riding up the Eagle’s Ladder upon Freiherr Ebbo’s whitemare!”

  All the women sprang up together, and rushed to the window, whence theycould indeed recognize both man and horse; and presently it became plainthat both were stained with blood, weary, and spent; indeed, nothing butextreme exhaustion would have induced the man-at-arms to trust the tired,stumbling horse up such a perilous path.

  Loud were the exclamations, “Ah! no good could come of not leading thatmare through the Johannisfeuer.”

  “This shameful expedition! Only harm could befall. This is thy doing,thou mincing city-girl.”

  “All was certain to go wrong when a pale mist widow came into the place.”

  The angry and dismayed cries all blended themselves in confusion in theears of the only silent woman present; the only one that soundeddistinctly on her brain was that of the last speaker, “A pale, mistwidow,” as, holding herself a little in the rear of the struggling,jostling little mob of women, who hardly made way even for theiracknowledged lady, she followed with failing limbs the universal rush tothe entrance as soon as man and horse had mounted the slope and were lostsight of.

  A few moments more, and the throng of expectants was at the foot of thehall steps, just as the lanzknecht reached the arched entrance. Hiscomrade Hans took his bridle, and almost lifted him from his horse; hereeled and stumbled as, pale, battered, and bleeding, he tried to advanceto Freiherinn Kunigunde, and, in answer to her hasty interrogation,faltered out, “Ill news, gracious lady. We have been set upon by theaccursed Schlangenwaldern, and I am the only living man left.”

  Christina scarce heard even these last words; senses and powers alikefailed her, and she sank back on the stone steps in a deathlike swoon.

  When she came to herself she was lying on her bed, Ursel and Else,another of the women, busy over her, and Ursel’s voice was saying, “Ah,she is coming round. Look up, sweet lady, and fear not. You are ourgracious Lady Baroness.”

  “Is he here? O, has he said so? O, let me see him—Sir Eberhard,”faintly cried Christina with sobbing breath.
>
  “Ah, no, no,” said the old woman; “but see here,” and she lifted upChristina’s powerless, bloodless hand, and showed her the ring on thefinger. Her bosom had been evidently searched when her dress wasloosened in her swoon, and her ring found and put in its place. “There,you can hold up your head with the best of them; he took care of that—mydear young Freiherr, the boy that I nursed,” and the old woman’s burst oftears brought back the truth to Christina’s reviving senses.

  “Oh, tell me,” she said, trying to raise herself, “was it indeed so? Osay it was not as he said!”

  “Ah, woe’s me, woe’s me, that it was even so,” lamented Ursel; “but oh,be still, look not so wild, dear lady. The dear, true-hearted younglord, he spent his last breath in owning you for his true lady, and inbidding us cherish you and our young baron that is to be. And thegracious lady below—she owns you; there is no fear of her now; so vex notyourself, dearest, most gracious lady.”

  Christina did not break out into the wailing and weeping that the oldnurse expected; she was still far too much stunned and overwhelmed, andshe entreated to be told all, lying still, but gazing at Ursel withpiteous bewildered eyes. Ursel and Else helping one another out, triedto tell her, but they were much confused; all they knew was that theparty had been surprised at night in a village hostel by theSchlangenwaldern, and all slain, though the young Baron had lived longenough to charge the Schneiderlein with his commendation of his wife tohis mother; but all particulars had been lost in the general confusion.

  “Oh, let me see the Schneiderlein,” implored Christina, by this time ableto rise and cross the room to the large carved chair; and Urselimmediately turned to her underling, saying, “Tell the Schneiderlein thatthe gracious Lady Baroness desires his presence.”

  Else’s wooden shoes clattered down stairs, but the next moment shereturned. “He cannot come; he is quite spent, and he will let no onetouch his arm till Ursel can come, not even to get off his doublet.”

  “I will go to him,” said Christina, and, revived by the sense of beingwanted, she moved at once to the turret, where she kept some rag and someointment, which she had found needful in the latter stages ofErmentrude’s illness—indeed, household surgery was a part of regularfemale education, and Christina had had plenty of practice in helping hercharitable aunt, so that the superiority of her skill to that of Urselhad long been avowed in the castle. Ursel made no objection further thanto look for something that could be at once converted into a widow’sveil—being in the midst of her grief quite alive to the need that nomatronly badge should be omitted—but nothing came to hand in time, andChristina was descending the stairs, on her way to the kitchen, where shefound the fugitive man-at-arms seated on a rough settle, his head andwounded arm resting on the table, while groans of pain, weariness, andimpatience were interspersed with imprecations on the stupid awkwardgirls who surrounded him.

  Pity and the instinct of affording relief must needs take the precedenceeven of the desire to hear of her husband’s fate; and, as the girlshastily whispered, “Here she is,” and the lanzknecht hastily tried togather himself up, and rise with tokens of respect; she bade him remainstill, and let her see what she could do for him. In fact, she at onceperceived that he was in no condition to give a coherent account ofanything, he was so completely worn out, and in so much suffering. Shebade at once that some water should be heated, and some of the broth ofthe dinner set on the fire; then with the shears at her girdle, and hersoft, light fingers, she removed the torn strip of cloth that had beenwound round the arm, and cut away the sleeve, showing the arm not broken,but gashed at the shoulder, and thence the whole length grazed andwounded by the descent of the sword down to the wrist. So tender was hertouch, that he scarcely winced or moaned under her hand; and, when sheproceeded, with Ursel’s help, to bathe the wound with the warm water, therelief was such that the wearied man absolutely slumbered during theprocess, which Christina protracted on that very account. She thendressed and bandaged the arm, and proceeded to skim—as no one else in thecastle would do—the basin of soup, with which she then fed her patient ashe leant back in the corner of the settle, at first in the samesomnolent, half-conscious state in which he had been ever since therelief from the severe pain; but after a few spoonfuls the light and lifecame back to his eye, and he broke out, “Thanks, thanks, gracious lady!This is the Lady Baroness for me! My young lord was the only wise man!Thanks, lady; now am I my own man again. It had been long ere the oldFreiherrinn had done so much for me! I am your man, lady, for life ordeath!” And, before she knew what he was about, the giganticSchneiderlein had slid down on his knees, seized her hand, and kissedit—the first act of homage to her rank, but most startling anddistressing to her. “Nay,” she faltered, “prithee do not; thou mustrest. Only if—if thou canst only tell me if he, my own dear lord, sentme any greeting, I would wait to hear the rest till thou hast slept.”

  “Ah! the dog of Schlangenwald!” was the first answer; then, as hecontinued, “You see, lady, we had ridden merrily as far as Jacob Müller’shostel, the traitor,” it became plain that he meant to begin at thebeginning. She allowed Ursel to seat her on the bench opposite to hissettle, and, leaning forward, heard his narrative like one in a dream.There, the Schneiderlein proceeded to say, they put up for the night,entirely unsuspicious of evil; Jacob Müller, who was known to himself, aswell as to Sorel and to the others, assuring them that the way was clearto Ratisbon, and that he heard the Emperor was most favourably disposedto any noble who would tender his allegiance. Jacob’s liquors werebrought out, and were still in course of being enjoyed, when the housewas suddenly surrounded by an overpowering number of the retainers ofSchlangenwald, with their Count himself at their head. He had beenevidently resolved to prevent the timely submission of the enemies of hisrace, and suddenly presenting himself before the elder Baron, hadchallenged him to instantaneous battle, claiming credit to himself fornot having surprised them when asleep. The disadvantage had beenscarcely less than if this had been the case, for the Adlersteinern wereall half-intoxicated, and far inferior in numbers—at least, on theshowing of the Schneiderlein—and a desperate fight had ended by his beingflung aside in a corner, bound fast by the ankles and wrists, the onlyliving prisoner, except his young lord, who, having several terriblewounds, the worst in his chest, was left unbound.

  Both lay helpless, untended, and silent, while the revel that had been sofatal to them was renewed by their captors, who finally all sunk into aheavy sleep. The torches were not all spent, and the moonlight shoneinto the room, when the Schneiderlein, desperate from the agony caused bythe ligature round his wounded arm, sat up and looked about him. A knifethrown aside by one of the drunkards lay near enough to be grasped by hisbound hands, and he had just reached it when Sir Eberhard made a sign tohim to put it into his hand, and therewith contrived to cut the roperound both hands and feet—then pointed to the door.

  There was nothing to hinder an escape; the men slept the sleep of thedrunken; but the Schneiderlein, with the rough fidelity of a retainer,would have lingered with a hope of saving his master. But Eberhard shookhis head, and signed again to escape; then, making him bend down close tohim, he used all his remaining power to whisper, as he pressed his swordinto the retainer’s hand,—

  “Go home; tell my mother—all the world—that Christina Sorel is my wife,wedded on the Friedmund Wake by Friar Peter of Offingen, and if sheshould bear a child, he is my true and lawful heir. My sword for him—mylove to her. And if my mother would not be haunted by me, let her takecare of her.”

  These words were spoken with extreme difficulty, for the nature of thewound made utterance nearly impossible, and each broken sentence cost aterrible effusion of blood. The final words brought on so choking andfatal a gush that, said the Schneiderlein, “he fell back as I tried tohold him up, and I saw that it was all at an end, and a kind and friendlymaster and lord gone from me. I laid him down, and put his cross on hisbreast that I had seen him kissing many a time th
at evening; and Icrossed his hands, and wiped the blood from them and his face. And,lady, he had put on his ring; I trust the robber caitiff’s may have leftit to him in his grave. And so I came forth, walking soft, and openingthe door in no small dread, not of the snoring swine, but of the dogswithout. But happily they were still, and even by the door I saw all ourpoor fellows stark and stiff.”

  “My father?” asked Christina.

  “Ay! with his head cleft open by the Graf himself. He died like a truesoldier, lady, and we have lost the best head among us in him. Well, theknave that should have watched the horses was as drunken as the rest ofthem, and I made a shift to put the bridle on the white mare and rideoff.”

  Such was the narrative of the Schneiderlein, and all that was left toChristina was the picture of her husband’s dying effort to guard her, andthe haunting fancy of those long hours of speechless agony on the floorof the hostel, and how direful must have been his fears for her. Sad andovercome, yet not sinking entirely while any work of comfort remained,her heart yearned over her companion in misfortune, the mother who hadlost both husband and son; and all her fears of the dread Freiherrinncould not prevent her from bending her steps, trembling and palpitatingas she was, towards the hall, to try whether the daughter-in-law’s rightmight be vouchsafed to her, of weeping with the elder sufferer.

  The Freiherrinn sat by the chimney, rocking herself to and fro, andholding consultation with Hatto. She started as she saw Christinaapproaching, and made a gesture of repulsion; but, with the feeling ofbeing past all terror in this desolate moment, Christina stepped nearer,knelt, and, clasping her hands, said, “Your pardon, lady.”

  “Pardon!” returned the harsh voice, even harsher for very grief, “thouhast naught to fear, girl. As things stand, thou canst not have thydeserts. Dost hear?”

  “Ah, lady, it was not such pardon that I meant. If you would let me be adaughter to you.”

  “A daughter! A wood-carver’s girl to be a daughter of Adlerstein!” halflaughed the grim Baroness. “Come here, wench,” and Christina underwent aseries of sharp searching questions on the evidences of her marriage.

  “So,” ended the old lady, “since better may not be, we must own thee forthe nonce. Hark ye all, this is the Frau Freiherrinn, FreiherrEberhard’s widow, to be honoured as such,” she added, raising her voice.“There, girl, thou hast what thou didst strive for. Is not that enough?”

  “Alas! lady,” said Christina, her eyes swimming in tears, “I would fainhave striven to be a comforter, or to weep together.”

  “What! to bewitch me as thou didst my poor son and daughter, andwell-nigh my lord himself! Girl! Girl! Thou know’st I cannot burn theenow; but away with thee; try not my patience too far.”

  And, more desolate than ever, the crushed and broken-hearted Christina, awidow before she had been owned a wife, returned to the room that was nowso full of memories as to be even more home than Master Gottfried’sgallery at Ulm.